Tick, Tock, Goes the Clock
by Schermionie
Summary: The silence of the house stifles. — George/Ginny drabble, for magic knickers.


Disclaimer: _Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling._

Prompt, from 'The Obscure Party' meme on livejournal: _george/ginny. but the minutes don't stop, the prayer of going nowhere_

_This was written for magic knickers. I've changed it a little, but it's a bit rough, and I'd never even considered this pairing and its dynamics before I saw the prompt. Still, I hope you'll like it. :)_

* * *

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

The silence of the house stifles. "They'll be home soon," was all Ginny had said, a numb tint to the words. Now she sits shivering on the edge of his bed, trying not to stare at the profile of his bones. George is all angles at the moment: angles away from her, angles of not looking her in the eye, the angle of a brother and sister sleeping together and what the story is behind that.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

The needle that says 'Fred' points at 'Home', but the silence of the house stifles, and Fred never did do silence. George's hands move towards it a few times, to smash it or caress it Ginny doesn't know, but it's such a pathetic gesture that she wants to smash it for him, wants to watch its guts still trying to tick as they're sprawled all over the floor. She should _never _have brought it up to show him - to show him what, exactly? Another reminder that he can't have their brother back? Another desperate attempt to breach the grief that's cutting him away from her? A brother and sister sleeping together, and what the story is behind that?

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

But of course, the story runs deep in both of them, started back when 'Fred' pointed to 'Home' and the noise of the house burst eardrums and sense.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

When the angles were worn smooth: love, and pride, and stubbornness. And many things that went unacknowledged, eye contact forced often enough and hugs with that tint of discomfort, yet their relationship no less for it. She wanted him to see her as an equal, wanted it so passionately, from him more than anyone else who treated her as a little girl. He joked about selling her love fantasy potions, as if he hadn't taken them himself, and it _wasn't_ just an uncomfortable fact of life that he'd fantasised about her every time...  
**  
Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

Ginny parts her lips to say _something_ - they'll be home soon, they'll surround us and we won't have to think about it, won't have to go anywhere like this again. _We won't do this again. _There is no story if it's just a moment. Just some weak minutes out of more strong hours than they can remember.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

"You should go," rasps George before she can make such unnecessary prayers. His voice burns hot with anger at them both, and her own blood boils in response, the same old reactionary fights they always have. Suddenly... she won't let the shame come anymore, the way it had _bled_ in with the pleasure. She'll fight it, and in doing so she'll fight his defensive isolation. Wasn't that what she'd come here to show him? That he wasn't alone, even without Fred by his side? To go now, even as she sits silent and shivering, clothes only haphazardly hanging on to still-tingling skin, would just be leaving him again. He _can't _reject her just because of a moment that won't be repeated.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

The rest of their family's hands on the clock move to 'Travelling', and then to 'Home'. But _their _hands won't move in caresses again - there's no need for her to go from his life because of these minutes of weakness...

**Tick, tock, goes the clock. **

"No," she responds, voice hard, as there are footsteps on the stairs and their mother starts to call them. _From now on, she _will_ always be 'Home' with him, going nowhere but a brother and sister's relationship and no story behind that. _Even if she has to pray to a god she doesn't believe in to make that happen.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock.**

This was just some minutes in more hours than they can remember.

**Tick, tock, goes the clock**

**but the minutes, they don't stop,**

**the prayer of going nowhere...**

**is just a prayer.**

There will be other moments, when grief cuts away at boundaries, and the silence of the house stifles.

**And tick, tock, goes the clock.**


End file.
